A Lady Yells Through The Open Side Door Into An Autistic Woman’s House

Don’t shout for me
I can’t answer you
With what little words I have lodged in my throat
Jagged, rough stones painted with child’s words of endearment and scary,
With what little words I have lodged in my throat
Tufts of string tangled, matted into balls with lint and dust fluff that choke,
With what little words I have lodged in my throat
Long-lost pieces of jewelry, inherited but forgotten, dreams for heirs,
With what little words I have lodged in my throat
Frogs jumping, some without legs, others with poisonous purple and yellow skin,
With what little words I have lodged in my throat
Stickles of doubt, a twitchy snout, prodding the soil for grubs, friendship,
With what little words I have lodged in my throat
Wind and water, hail and lightning, electric trembling crashes, orgasmic catastrophe,
With what little words I have lodged in my throat
Swallow down, broken glass, internal bleeding, quiet feeling, not today.
Lady—
not today.
My door is open
But that doesn’t mean I’m home.